Primum Non Nocere
by 1.126.000
Summary: Respawn fails, and a solitary BLU is captured by RED in order to save one of their own.
1. Chapter 1

BLU medic stood in his office tuning a violin while the voices of eight other BLU mercenaries filtered through the ceiling. He gave a few twists of one of the pegs before plucking at a string.

A?  
Not quite.

A pronounced thud sounded from above, not unlike that which regularly accompanied an amused Heavy tackling an overconfident Scout when the latter was brave or mad or stupid enough to challenge the former. Twisting the peg some more, he again tried for A. His suspicions regarding the activity upstairs were confirmed when Scout's protests – and the team's laughter - became audible.  
It was hard not to smile.

He nailed the elusive note and sighed.  
Combat medics. The moment they walked off the battlefield their duties were only partway complete; later came tending wounds and surgeries and follow-ups and this and that and the third and on and on and on...  
No nine to five, Medic. Not for you.

Perhaps if downtime were more plentiful he'd have had the violin tuned weeks ago. Perhaps he now wouldn't be so tired, and would've remembered to lock his office door. And then, perhaps, he wouldn't now have a knife pressed to his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

Smokestink.

Blood-hot panic flooded Medic's veins.

"Go on, _docteur_," said the spider to the fly. "Squeal."

Medic, however, made a perfectly conscious decision _not_ to squeal. Having sparred with RED's spy before, he knew better. Back then the sneak had breached BLU's defenses in search of their Intel, and it was only later that Medic learned this same master of stealth had systematically and single-handedly ghosted all but two of his comrades. Back then, despite the presence of a sentry gun, he'd decorated a door with Engineer's brain matter; he'd also buried a knife in Sniper's back and, as if to illustrate a point, left it there. True, the RED spy had assumed Medic's own ID in a terrifying display, and Scout's too (it was under this guise that he got to Soldier and Heavy), but it was Sniper's demise that really had him scared. Sniper, the most guarded and careful man Medic had ever encountered, who saw _you_ long before you saw _him..._dead.

Now Medic was cornered. He took a breath to steady himself.  
"Vhat do you vant?"

"_Pour m'écouter_," said the spy. "To listen to me very carefully and do _exactly_ as I tell you."

Through the ceiling, Medic could still hear them; his friends and allies.  
"And…if I refuse?"

At once he regretted it as the spy pushed more firmly against his throat.

"My dear doctor," he said. "Do you know just _why_ we were issued an emergency ceasefire?"

Medic did not. No one did. Ceasefires were never explained and questions were discouraged.

"It is because Respawn has failed. We were not told - though it makes no sense - but a good spy always knows."

Respawn…had _failed_?

"You seem surprised, doctor. Your own spy did not tell you? Perhaps he does not know. It wouldn't surprise me. In any case, I think now you understand the situation here."

Medic swallowed. This was serious. The spy's words could very well be hearsay, but…

"Doctor? You _do_ understand, don't you?"

There wasn't any time. After a moment he simply replied, "Ja."

"Excellent!" said the RED spy withdrawing his knife. "A man as smart as you _would_, of course. Now, put down that violin and turn around."

Medic obeyed and found himself at gunpoint. As much as he wanted to, he didn't wipe the sweat from his hands.

"We are leaving this place now. You will turn off the lights, you will lock the doors, you will remain silent, and you will stay where I can see you."

It was with those few commands that the hope Medic had of his team seeking his whereabouts at some point during the night was gone. He always turned off the lights, he always locked the doors, and, evidently, he was always being watched. Anyone who came looking for him now would assume him to be asleep…as always.

No one would come. No one would even check. Nothing strange about the songbird's singing, after all.

RED's spy gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"


	3. Chapter 3

They had taken the tunnels – the RED spy directing BLU medic along an unfamiliar route - and when they emerged into open air again the evening was gone and night had fallen. Neither spoke.

Ordinarily Medic would be familiar with the layout of RED's territory (courtesy of umpteen missions behind enemy lines), but out here, wherever 'here' might be, he did not recognize a thing. The few spotlights there were revealed ruined buildings and a ragged, rocky terrain littered with battle-scraps. There was the rush of wind through trees close by, and he was beginning to think this wasn't RED territory at all, just an old forsaken battleground; whether this was good news or bad was another question.

Medic had a thought then, something Soldier had enlightened the team about a few months prior. His lecture had included such words as 'bind', 'gag', 'torture', plus another he insisted was the result of a grown man succumbing to basal instinct and the gradual erosion of his willpower.  
No one had questioned his credentials on the matter.

And so a new panic crept up on BLU medic as he and his captor crested a steep hill. On the other side, a little way ahead where the ground was level again, stood a building that rose up into the sky and blocked out the stars. A single light illuminated the entrance and the unmistakable symbol displayed there. Of all the places... RED's medical HQ.

Not what he expected.

And yet another surprise: a cluster of RED mercenaries. He couldn't tell how many there were.

"Doctor," said the RED spy suddenly, "You have every reason not to trust me - this I know, but please listen." His voice was hushed and urgent. "They will not harm you. There is no ulterior motive here, just a need for your medical expertise. Please help him, doctor; I get the feeling there is not much time." Medic swore he heard fear in those words.

The REDs stepped aside as the two approached, an atmosphere of grudging resignation about them all. Soon Medic was facing their soldier.

"15 minutes late," he said.

Behind him, Medic heard the spy light up.

"Complacency is the enemy, private. Hear me? No matter how good you are, y-"

"If I had been caught," the spy interjected, "then I would have lied. Or perhaps not. Either way my life would not have been in any danger. BLU are sticklers for the rules, and I have watched them long enough to know they would never take matters into their own hands, but rather let their superiors handle things for them. But I knew for a fact that I would _not_ be caught. BLU is far too careless outside the arena."

Medic resented the spy's words, though they were true. Damn spy.

"So this is the BLU fritz, huh?" said the soldier, ignoring his teammate's monologue. "Well now, isn't he a cute one."

Medic stood his ground.

"What's the matter, doc?" he asked, getting a little too close for comfort. "Shy?"

First the stench of the spy's breath and his rubbery lips on Medic's ear back at the base, and now this. It didn't matter that he was outnumbered, or that his life was in danger; Medic was tiring of this conduct.

He looked away.

"Is this entirely necessary?" asked the spy.

The soldier gave a single unimpressed grunt and backed off.

"Fine. Let's get this over with. You," he said, sticking his finger in Medic's face, "follow me."

Medic hesitated, considering the probability this was a trick.

"Wouldn't stand still if I were you, wanka," someone called.

From a second-floor window, RED's own Australian was keeping watch through his rifle scope.

* * *

Inside, RED's hospital was similar to BLU's. There was evidence of a reception area, long fallen into disuse, and many of the lights were either blown or missing altogether.

The RED soldier stayed silent as he led Medic down the main hallway and subsequently through a labyrinth of corridors. Everywhere the floor was dirty and the walls were stained. Eventually they came to another hallway with a set of double doors at the end and about half-a-dozen chairs lining the walls outside. There was something else, too.  
A smell.  
Sickness, yes, but something else. Something _animal_.

Despite the situation, Medic was curious. The RED spy had been fearful of something, and excluding _his_ unpleasantries no other member of RED had so much as touched him. The team itself was also uncharacteristically subdued, showing no signs of the psychotic behavior they typically displayed on the battlefield.

The RED soldier led him through the doors then, and immediately the offensive smell magnified ten-fold.

Medic suppressed a coughing fit, testimony to the filthy conditions of what was clearly an unsanitary operating room. RED's heavy weapons guy was there, standing with his back to the operating table, arms crossed, effectively blocking him from seeing who exactly was on the table itself. There were rust stains and dust everywhere, and Medic tried to convince himself that the dark stuff on the ceiling in the corner was not, in fact, black mould. No doubt the RED medic was a busy man, but as a medical professional he'd _never_ tolerate black mould in surgery. Of course not.

On a positive note, Medic now had an idea of his purpose here.

"Private!" barked RED's soldier. "Where the hell is Engie?"

"Is vorking," replied the heavy. "Is what Soldier said, da?"

RED soldier grunted, then whirled around. "Remember, Heavy, he is the enemy and should be treated with suspect."  
Then, a warning. "_His_ death is _your_ death, fritz."

With that, he left.

A tangible awkwardness manifested as the RED heavy, who did not move nor say anything, studied BLU medic. Though he was frowning, his eyes betrayed him. Medic had worked for many years in private practice, and genuine worry was no stranger.

This RED heavy, on the other hand, was, and he was unsure of how to approach. Should he extend a hand and introduce himself? Await instruction?

He settled with a question.

"Zhere is a problem vith Respawn?"

He knew there was, of course; this was just idle chatter.

"Da," RED's heavy replied. "Is not vorking. Is reason for not fighting."

"Ah."

Another silence, then praise unexpected.

"I have watched you on battlefield, doktor. Is talented and loyal. Rest of team may be babies, but you are credit to team."

"Danke," said Medic, never one to forget manners.

"Am wondering though," the heavy continued, "if leetle BLU doktor can be credit to RED also. Maybe. Just once."

He moved aside and there on the operation table was the absolute last person BLU medic expected to see.

His own counterpart.

The infamous RED medic.


	4. Chapter 4

Grit on the floor cracked under BLU medic's boots as he approached the operating table. RED's medic lay unresponsive, pained in expression, his face glistening with sweat under the surgical lights.  
_Just a need for medical expertise, _the spy had said. Now it made sense; the medic heals the team, but who heals the medic?

He put his hand to the doctor's brow and just about fell over at the heat of it.

"What?" said the RED heavy. "Is problem?"

There was a time in Medic's childhood when he came down with a wicked sickness. The doctor who was called to see him had kind eyes and was so sincere it seemed like nothing at that moment was more important to him than his patient's well-being. Compassion for the sick, Medic's father called it. Later, when he'd decided to pursue medicine as a profession, Medic discovered that he, too, possessed this same compassion. It was in his nature, and no matter friend or foe, the healer in him always won out. Some said that was his problem.  
Not this time.

"Doktor?"

Medic frowned."Herr Heavy, are you blind as vell as fat?"

He couldn't believe he just said that. Strangely, though, the heavy just stared at him.

"Never mind. How long has he been like zhis?"

"Maybe…few days?"

A few _days_?

Medic was unimpressed. He moved round to the other side of the operating table. "I vill need ice packs, if you have zhem," he said curtly.

The heavy, though he hesitated, obeyed. While he found the ice, Medic wasted no time in locating filth-free instruments necessary for his examination. Without a word he took two of the ice packs and propped them up against the RED medic's bare foot soles, then took another and instructed the heavy to hold it to the top of the doctor's skull.

"Now," he said, preparing to take vitals, "you say he has been like zhis for a vhile, but I need to know more. Do you have any idea vhat caused zhis. Any idea at all?"

The heavy thought for a moment but said simply, "Nyet."

Keeping up his act, Medic grunted in reply. It wasn't long before he'd measured blood pressure and taken pulse.

"Has he eaten anyzhing?" he asked. "Is he drinking?"

"I am not thinking so."

He picked up a stethoscope and unbuttoned the doctor's shirt.

"Has he been sick at all?"

"Am not sure."

"Did he complain of feeling ill?"

"Is saying he is tired," said the heavy, "and just needing rest."

Silence followed as Medic listened to the doctor's heart and lungs. When he was finished he replaced the borrowed stethoscope and took a deep breath. _Abnormal, abnormal, abnormal..._

"Doktor?" the heavy said. "Dis ice. What is for?"

The question caught Medic off-guard.

"Zhe ice…is for his temperature. Now-"

"But why is ice on Doktor's feet?"

"Zhe sole of the zhe foot is a primary outlet for excess body heat. Now-"

"I am not understanding," said the heavy, crossing his arms.

This one was persistent.

"Sometimes," said Medic, "vhen vun is sick, zhe body's natural response is to raise zhe internal temperature and develop a fever. But a prolonged fever does nozhing but damage. If vhat you say is true and he's been suffering for several days, zhen his temperature must be reduced immediately. Medication may be required, but until I know vhat is wrong, I vill resort to no such zhing."

The heavy seemed content with that explanation, though Medic couldn't understand why.

"Herr Doctor," he continued, though he knew the doctor could not hear, "you know how zhis vorks. Tell me if it hurts."

Shortly into his abdominal examination, the RED medic came to, promptly emptying his stomach contents over onto the floor. When he collapsed back onto the operating table, he was much too pale.

* * *

"Hey, fatass, you listenin' to me? I'm _talkin'_ here!"

A dejected BLU scout sat on one of the couches in the team lounge, nursing his shoulder. It still hurt from when he'd been tackled, and though everyone made light of it, he seriously thought he might be injured.

The mercenary responsible for said injury reclined along the length of a second couch, reading a book. He stopped to peer over his reading glasses at the kid.

"Is not my fault you have big mouth and leetle muscle. Go and see Doktor if you are such baby."

"Speakin' ah the doc," called the BLU engineer from the next room, "where is he?"

"In office," said Heavy, focusing on his book once more. "Is doing vork."

"Again? Shouldn't he take a break?"

Engineer had a great deal of respect for Medic - a great deal of sympathy, too.

"Hey, if he wantsa be a loner, let him."

"Nyet!" said Heavy, fixing Scout with a hard stare. "Doktor is NOT loner. Is writing papers, doing vork - something leetle Scout would not know about."

"Aw, that's low, man."

Unimpressed, Engineer headed downstairs to check on Medic. Even if his attempts to persuade the doctor to take a break failed, he wanted to let it be known his efforts were, in fact, appreciated.  
It appeared, however, that he'd already gone to bed for the night, as his office door was locked and the lights inside were shut off.  
He cupped a hand to the glass and peered inside. Medic had left his violin out, which was odd for a guy who had a thing about using your indoor voice and replacing pen caps and such, but as everything else was in its usual place there likely was no need to worry. Confident all was well in the jungle, he made for his workshop for some last-minute tinkering.

* * *

BLU medic hadn't hesitated; within fifteen minutes he'd taken scans and x-rays, and was now examining them up on the operating room light box. Behind him the RED medic lay curled in the fetal position, his breathing rapid and shallow, while the heavy stayed close by.

There was a remarkable bond between those two, Medic noticed, though it shouldn't have come as a surprise. The amity he shared with BLU's heavy was profound enough that some had gone so far as to refer to them as brothers, and why should RED be any different? Despite this, RED's heavy hadn't interfered even once so far, seemingly content to stand back observe.

Medic adjusted his glasses and focused on the x-rays. In one, no less than five bright spots appeared - five foreign bodies embedded in the doctor's gut, evidently of the metallic persuasion. The offending material could be removed of course, but an infection had clearly taken root and it seemed quite serious.  
How though, Medic wondered, had the doctor possibly missed them? One did not simply walk around unaware of metal fragments lodged in one's body. He knew his RED counterpart wasn't stupid - quite the opposite. He was brilliant. Resourceful, too. So why such an imbecilic mistake? None of the others were suffering. Why the failure with his own self?  
Was it pride? Was that it?  
'Doctor's orders' and all?

Suddenly Medic was aware of the RED heavy at his side. "See zhis here, Herr Heavy?" he said, pointing at the spots, "Zhis is metal. Sometimes, zhe hell of Respawn really _is_ vorth it. Zhe good news is zhey are no vhere else in his body, but I _must_ remove zhem or he vill die very slowly and very painfully."

The heavy tensed visibly. "Doktor can fix...da?"

"Ja."

"So…must operate soon?"

"Immediately."


	5. Chapter 5

Crimson fumes tumbled from the operating room medigun, spilling out over the RED medic who lay fully prepped for surgery, a spread of stainless steel nearby. Despite the odds, his questionable hygiene practices had proved to be a blessing in disguise for BLU medic; so much of what he needed was locked away in cabinets and in drawers, untouched and unopened, safe and sterile – 'sterile' being the keyword – ready and waiting for use.  
He stood at the scrub sink now, frowning over a surgical mask at the faucet while the pipes shuddered and groaned. Evidently the thing had not seen regular use.  
The RED heavy sat beside his doctor, and Medic had taken care to speak to him only when necessary. Get in and get out. That was the plan.

When the water flowed smoothly and warm, Medic broke out the sterile soap.

"Herr Heavy," he said, scrubbing madly, "vould you find me some gloves? Zhey'll be around here somevhere."

"Doktor does not use gloves," said the heavy. "Does not need them."

Medic stared.

This was a joke. This had to be a joke.

The heavy, however, only stared back. Arguing, it seemed, was pointless.

Wonderful. Now he'd have to stop, dry his hands, search the God-forsaken place for gloves, and then scrub up once more. Talk about wasting time.

When at long last Medic was ready, he double-checked the settings on the medigun, took a last minute inventory of surgical tools, selected a scalpel and made an expert slice through skin and fat and muscle from xiphoid process to pubic bone. Once he had abdominal retractors in place and secure, he looked to the x-rays for guidance and began his search through intestine and between organs for what didn't belong. With any luck, the absence of a foul odor meant the absence of gangrene.

Visibly infected tissue led him to the first of the foreign objects, and he took care with its extraction. Once out, he examined it more closely.

_Grenade fragment._

So _that's_ what happened. Soldier would have a field day.

Medic had seen this kind of thing before, with his own team. The problem with adrenaline was its ability to negate pain that would otherwise be impossible to ignore, and it wasn't uncommon to discover a bullet graze or nasty gash - even stab wounds - that a teammate was not aware of until their post-battle physical.  
It's a wonder the doctor survived.

"Grenade fragment," Medic told the heavy. "Zhere's a nasty infection, but nozhing an antibiotic von't cure. I am surprised, really. He is more resilient zhan I zhought."

Realizing he'd just gone and praised the enemy, Medic withdrew into silence and resumed his work. Soon a second fragment joined the first.  
Things were going well! Just three more to find, and the RED medic remained in stable condition.  
Taking a moment to stretch his back, Medic glanced heavenward in a silent prayer of thanks…and froze.  
That smell…

"Ohh…mein…"

Something white flew out of the darkness and into his face then, fluttering wildly. The heavy erupted into laughter as Medic shrieked and threw himself over the exposed organs of his patient while feathers flew everywhere.

A bird?! A bird _in surgery_?!

"Do not worry, Doktor!" the heavy shouted over the frenzied fluttering. "Is just Archimedes!"

His heart going about a mile a minute, Medic watched as the bird – a dove – Archimedes landed on the operating table by the RED medic's head and cooed repeatedly. Looking around, there had to be a dozen of them at least, all perched in various places well out of the illumination of the surgical lights. No wonder he hadn't noticed them.

"Leetle bird was confused," said the heavy, carefully petting the creature. "Is seeing two Doktors and does not know what to think."

Though he was beside himself, Medic couldn't deny the obvious affection the creature had for its master, pecking at his earlobe and all.

But that was no excuse. And it gave Medic an opportunity.

"Herr Heavy," he said, "zhis is unacceptable."

The heavy looked up. "What?"

"Unacceptable, Herr Heavy!" said Medic, yanking down his surgical mask. "I vill _not_ continue vith zhe operation under zhese conditions. I refuse."

The heavy frowned. "Is just innocent bird," he said. "Always close by when Doktor is vorking."

"Not _zhis_ doctor."

The heavy was up and around the operating table in an instant. "Da! _Dis_ doktor," he said, jabbing Medic's shoulder.

Medic snatched up a scalpel and held it out in warning. "Do _not_ touch me."

He'd already tolerated this kind of treatment from RED's spy and soldier; he was not about to tolerate it from their heavy as well. He was a medic. _The_ medic. A highly-respected physician back in Germany and the primary healing class of Builders League United. He would not allow himself to be treated this way.

"You do not have birds also?" asked the heavy.

"Indeed I do," replied Medic. "Birds in cages and a coop to call home and _never_, under any circumstances, are zhey allowed in zhe operating room. Surgery is a sterile environment, Herr Heavy, _not_ an avery. Seeing vhat I have, it no longer amazes me zhat your doctor is sick. He had zhis coming to him a long time ago and it's entirely his fault. You vant me to continue vith zhe operation? Zhen get zhat _zhing_ out of here! Get zhem _all_ out of here! But don't you dare take your frustration out on me because you got stuck vith some quack from Stuttgart who's too prideful for his own good - so prideful, in fact, zhat it could cost him his life, and now you have to rely on a lowly BLU to save him. I'm surprised he hasn't killed off every single vone of you by now. First zhe filth, zhen zhe dust, zhen zhe mould, and just vhen I zhink conditions cannot possibly get vorse I find doves in zhe operating room! And you idiots trust him vith your lives and your health?! He can't even take care of _himself_!"

He stopped, out of breath and out of words.

By now the heavy was fuming, Medic could tell. He saw something move behind that dark glare. Whatever it was, he was ready.

But when the heavy finally spoke, there was no anger, no hate, but…

"Why?"

Hurt. That was it.  
One didn't need a medical license to know hurt.

"Vhy vhat?"

"Why is BLU doktor so angry?"

Medic walked to the medigun and pretended to adjust its angle. "I do not have to justify myself t-"

"Da, you do! Dis behavior? Calling Heavy fat and other rude things? Not wanting to finish vork? Is not like you."

"And vhat exactly vould you know about me, Herr Heavy? Hm?"

The heavy narrowed his eyes. "Many things. You are just like RED doktor."

"I am _nozhing_ like him," Medic spat.

"Da! Is why he is sick!"

Medic frowned. "Vhat? Vhat are you talking about? Vhat do you mean?"

"Doktor is sick because he forgets about self. Is taking care of RED just like BLU doktor is taking care of BLU!"

Medic stared.

Was that...true? Could it be out of concern for others and _not_ pride that had landed RED's medic in dire straits? Was it possible…for this man who wouldn't hesitate to disembowel an enemy even as they lay dying on the battlefield? If so, then…perhaps…they were not so different?

"Like I am saying before," said the heavy, "I have watched you in battle. You do not use weapon unless having no choice...or being afraid. BLU doktor is always healing. Even in danger or when being hurt, BLU doktor is always healing. You are being angry and holding knife, but I know you do not mean it. Is just because you are scared. Is only time you use weapon..."

So...the heavy had seen it then. He'd seen everything.  
He'd seen through the rudeness to the way BLU medic gently turned the RED medic's wrist to take pulse, the way he'd pushed back his counterpart's curl of hair before gently pressing hand to his forehead to take temperature.  
He'd caught on long ago, _knew_ long ago, before Medic even had a chance.

Though the heavy was smiling, no trace of menace in his words, Medic refused to back down.

"Compassion...is not a veakness."

"Da!" said the heavy all excited, as if Medic had just seen the light. "Is not weakness. Is strength! Is very good! Different from other strength, but is why BLU doktor is helping RED."

Medic could only stand there beside the medigun, looking into the heavy's face but not really looking into anything at all. He felt so tired now…couldn't think straight…didn't want to be there. Maybe he shouldn't have signed the contract with BLU. Maybe he shouldn't have believed them when they said he was the only other one they could find whose credentials matched that of his future rival. He wished he was back in Germany now, where he could make the entire waiting room laugh. He still remembered it, that time when he emerged wearing bloodied gloves (it was only sauce) and watched as the poor tax man turned white and ran out the door.

Medic was suddenly aware of the heavy's massive hand on his shoulder. "Is all right, Doktor," he said with a soft smile. "Do not be scared. Is no need. RED will not hurt you because you are helping. Because you are healing always. Was not lying when I say you are credit to team."

The RED medic stirred just then, and BLU medic hurried over to make sure he remained stationary, secretly glad for the opportunity to escape the heavy's touch.

RED hadn't captured him to use him; they'd captured him for his help. A fine line there, but he supposed that line made all the difference.

"Vergib mir, Herr Doctor," he muttered. "I did not mean to leave you."

Archimedes had disappeared, and when Medic resumed surgery, the red of his gloves no longer seemed so strange.


	6. Chapter 6

The medigun.

Implemented by health care institutions around the world it might just be hailed as one of the single greatest inventions in all of recorded history, its creator regarded with more awe and respect than Hippocrates of Kos, the father of modern medicine himself. If anesthesia and organ transplants were considered major medical breakthroughs of their time, then the medigun was nothing less than revolutionary; nothing like it before, nothing like it again. Cuts and scratches would disappear almost instantaneously, deep wounds would take only seconds to heal, and even the most life-threatening injuries could be neutralized in mere minutes. An emergency room staple, surgery would never be the same.

But even perfection has faults.

Funny how the thing that brought men back from the edge of death couldn't help a cold or flu, or even the mildest of infections. Funny, thought BLU medic, glancing up at his patient, how something so powerful was at the same time so powerless.

Despite their earlier hostilities, conversation with RED's heavy had been easy, and Medic listened as he was told of the doctor's sickness, how everyone assumed he'd get better, and then when the situation became desperate how they'd tried to contact the Administrator, Miss Pauling, everyone and anyone, but no one was there and no one answered.  
It was then, when RED's spy discovered the failure of Respawn, that the heavy had pushed for BLU medic's capture on the premise that he'd be sympathetic to their plight. Understandably, there was resistance. The heavy, however, kept pushing for it. He would be the one to keep an eye on BLU medic and oversee any medical treatment that might be required. Eventually RED yielded, realizing they had little choice, and the heavy – confident in Medic's abilities - offered them his life, if they so desired it, should something go wrong.

"But I am knowing you will help and fix everything, so I do not worry."

Unnerved by the heavy's faith in him, Medic changed the subject.

"Herr Heavy," he ventured, "I cannot help but vonder…how did it come to zhis? Your medic, I mean. He must have known. Surely he – somevone – must have suspected…must have said somezhing…?"

"We are thinking he is doktor and knows what he is doing, knows if he is sick. So we do not worry and believe him when he says he is just needing rest."

Not exactly the answer Medic was looking for. Even if what the heavy said earlier was true, and it really _was_ a simple oversight, something still didn't sit well.

"But surely, at some point, it vas obvious zhis vas no mere stomach bug."

The heavy only shrugged. "Is doktor, so we believe him," he repeated.

Medic wondered. When he first arrived, various surgical tools were already laid out. His guess: the RED medic had indeed caught on and attempted to remedy himself, just never made it that far. Whether out of shame or embarrassment or discomfort or something else entirely, the heavy's lack of enthusiasm told him it was better not to push the subject, though like so many other things it made no sense.

"Vell, no matter. Now tell me - I am curious - are you as fond of reading as your BLU counterpart?"

The RED heavy perked right up.

"Da! Very much!"

Like someone flipped a switch.

"At first I am thinking Engineer and Sniper also, but Sniper is…" he struggled to find an appropriate word, but gave up, "…and Engineer is, how do you say…physical man? Hands man?"

"Hands _on_?" suggested Medic.

"Da! That is it. Hands on. Is needing to build things always. Does not seem to like reading unless for machines."

Medic made a quick check of his progress then. Years of experience had granted him the ability to operate on a patient while simultaneously engaging in meaningful conversation, but periodically taking stock was always a good idea. Four metallic fragments now lay at the bottom of their designated bowl; four down and one to go. Medic looked at the x-rays and saw that the last was not much more than a tiny sliver.  
Why did he expect any different?

"Let me tell you about zhe time I inadvertently insulted our own engineer."

The heavy seemed eager to hear about it, and so Medic continued.

"Herr Engineer comes staggering into my office vone day saying he feels like he cannot breathe properly, as if he cannot get enough air into his lungs. I take notes, as I do, for papervork later on, and begin. Vell, halfvay zhrough his physical I suppose curiosity gets ze better of him and he looks over at my notes and sees zhat I've written 'major SoB'."

The heavy tried and failed to suppress laughter.

"I know, I know. Vhat I meant vas 'shortness of breath'. It's called Dyspnea actually, but I often abbreviate to save time. Anyvay, you can imagine how angry he vas, and it did not help zhat zhis vas very early on and ve did not know each ozher as vell as ve do now. To make matters vorse I, uh…I did not realize vhat it stood for at zhe time. Oh, I spoke English fluently, but I… I vas not good vith zhings like zhat. I zhought… I zhought for sure… he vas going to kill me; zhat man has a mean streak…like you vouldn't believe. But ve vere fine after zhat uh…zhat slight misunderstanding, and now… he alvays looks...or razher, he's alvays looking out for me… and I appreciate it.

"Doktor?"

"Ja?"

"You are okay?"

"Oh yes," Medic said, waving away the inquiry. "Zhis last piece is proving difficult is all. Just give me a moment."

"Take time," said the heavy.

Medic blamed himself. Too often he stayed up late, and now he was tired and his focus suffered for it. All he wanted was to find that which would secure his freedom. He wondered how long it had been...

"Ach!"

"What?"

Medic smiled and held up a tiny glimmering thing.

"Credit to BLU," said the heavy, returning the smile, "and now credit to RED."

* * *

The operation over with, Medic removed the abdominal retractors, tore off his gloves and lowered the medigun for its finale. Amid a wicked crackling his incision seamed together flawlessly, and the skin there looked as if it had never even seen so much as a scratch. Not knowing the RED medic's post-op protocol – assuming he _had_ any - BLU medic rinsed everything and set it all to sterilize.  
After sanitizing his hands, he set up an IV drip and left written instructions regarding its maintenance and removal.

"If he hasn't already ripped it out himself by zhen," he told the heavy, who gave an apologetic look.

Medic could only imagine what the RED doctor's reaction would be when he learned of what had transpired during his semi-conscious state, who it was who had come to his aid, and that the teammate he trusted most not only fully supported it all, but had been the one to suggest it in the first place. To say Medic did not envy the RED heavy would be an understatement.

He found a thin blanket to cover his patient, and while it wasn't much, the doctor's coat, when rolled, made for an acceptable pillow.

"Now don't you die on me, Herr Doctor," Medic murmured, quiet enough so the heavy could not hear. "Don't you dare."

Nothing. RED's doctor was resting peacefully now.

"He's no longer in any pain," he told the heavy, "but he needs to sleep; zhe IV vill take care of zhe rest. I do not know how long Respawn vill be non-operational, but in zhe highly unlikely event zhat zhere are complications, you should send your spy. It vould be easiest, I zhink."

The heavy nodded. "Hmm. Dis should work."

"Alright zhen. For as long as zhe cease-fire remains in effect, I vill stay in my office as often as I can. Your spy knows how to find it, and my team vill not suspect anyzhing."

"Da. Is good. Will have word with Spy. And maybe…have word with Doktor. About gloves."

Medic smiled.

"And maybe birds."

* * *

RED's heavy accompanied Medic out into the hallway.

"Am I correct in assuming the operation was a success?"

The RED spy. Medic doubted he'd ever become accustomed to his presence.

"Like I tell entire team," said the heavy sternly, "BLU doktor fixes everything."

"For a moment there I thought I'd have to step in."

Medic blinked.

"Oh, for heaven's sake...don't look so surprised, doctor. _I am a spy_. You seem to have difficulty comprehending that. "

Surprise turned to self-consciousness as Medic tried to remember his actions and, more importantly, his words. What new information had the RED spy gathered? How next would it be used against BLU?

"Was nothing," said the heavy.

"I'm afraid I have to disagree with you, _mon ami_. What _I_ witnessed-"

"BLU doktor is calling Heavy fat. Is all."

"And you let him get away with it?" There was amusement in the spy's voice.

The heavy shrugged. "Had Doktor to worry about, so not big problem."

"I see. I trust arrangements have been made."

"Will tell Spy later. BLU doktor goes back to team now. Was deal, no?"

"Mmm, indeed," said the spy, lighting a cigarette. "Very well. I believe I have the honor of escorting you once more, doctor, and I'd appreciate it if you gave me no trouble, as no harm came to you."

Medic hesitated. He'd grown used to his new surroundings, and it felt odd to be leaving so soon.

"_Docteur?_" called the spy from up ahead.

The heavy placed a hand on Medic's shoulder. "Go," he said, smiling. "BLU doktor has done enough. Does not need to say anything."

To think...they'd be trying to kill each other next they met.


	7. Chapter 7

It was moon-quiet outside, all cool clear breeze and wide night sky, and so unlike the stifling atmosphere of indoors. It was satisfying just to breathe. The REDs who'd been hanging around when BLU medic arrived were gone.

"You'll have to forgive their bad manners," said the spy. "They are grateful, undoubtedly, but they are also proud." He walked beside Medic now, with no indication he would reach for a weapon.

The route back to BLU base was that they came as far as Medic could tell, back over jagged terrain and past wrecked buildings to the labyrinthine tunnels where, though he made a valiant effort, he ultimately couldn't keep track of the myriad junctions, as much as the knowledge would've proven useful to his team. Whether this was because there were few significant markers to make note of, or because RED's spy was taking a completely different path, Medic was unsure.

"You know, I'm disappointed in you, doctor," said the spy as they walked along a lengthy passageway, "insulting my teammate like that after I showed you such civility."

Medic may have grown comfortable enough with RED's heavy to temporarily suspend team rivalry, but their spy was another matter. His behavior toward Medic had been - at best - unstable, and trust remained the issue.

"If such zhings as a knife to zhe zhroat and death-zhreats are your idea of civility, zhen ja, I did you a great disservice. I should have used so much more zhan vords. Surgical steel, perhaps?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, doctor, but I believe you almost did."

Fox.

Presently they came to a crossroads.

"This is where we part ways," said the spy, lighting another smoke. "Continue on down _that_ way and I think you'll find yourself in familiar territory. You have my thanks, of course, but I must warn you: do not attempt to retrace my steps in any manner, both at this time and in the future. It would be … _unwise_."

Medic just looked at him. As if he'd be so stupid.

"Am I making myself clear, doctor?"

"Funny zhing to say", replied Medic without hesitance, "coming from a man who can literally disappear."

The spy took a long drag on his cigarette, blew it out in Medic's face, and was gone.

Ascending to ground level, Medic made a mental note to talk to Engineer and Demoman about rigging the lower levels (although he'd have to give a solid argument rife with hard logic in order to convince Engineer). He figured they owed RED a few, though it did nothing for the twinge of guilt in his gut given they'd just trusted him with their medic's life and all.

He left the base and headed for BLU's living quarters. Fatigue made even walking seem like a chore, and the ground was fast looking like a wonderful place to lie down and soak up the calm and quiet and then finally slumber deep with the stars to keep watch.  
Just how many hours had passed?  
A silly question, really. The RED spy's precautions had ensured no one would discover his absence, and besides, everyone would be asleep now, wouldn't they?

* * *

With the lights shut off, BLU's engineer inched open the workshop door.  
He'd dozed off thinking it wouldn't hurt to rest his eyes for a few minutes, but those few minutes came and went, and then something tugged at the edges.  
Surely he was imagining things, for it _was_ after-hours and a period of cease-fire. It was all just a product of a half-conscious haze and the logic telling him go-to-bed-already-the-schematics-will-be-here-in-the-morning. But out of a multitude of sounds, there were two he knew best.  
The first was an electro sapper.  
The second was enemy footsteps - specifically those of a spy. They could be heard even as the bloodiest battle raged around a man if he knew how to listen, and they could be heard now in BLU's territory...in _his_ territory.  
One shot would do it. One shot and off goes the lil' RED creeping thing careening into the head-sick hell of Respawn. Nothing to it.

He took aim ... and fired.

The echo filled the air and a cry went up and Engineer flung open the door and hit the lights and then the realization hit.

It wasn't a spy. It was a medic.

_BLU's_ medic.

He swore.

"Doc?"

No answer.

"DOC?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to everyone who read/reviewed :)**

* * *

"I'm sorry again, Doc," said Engineer. "_Mighty_ sorry."

Then he was gone and the office door clicked shut. Medic dropped himself into the corner chair.

There'd been a lot of that lately, a lot of _mighty sorry_. Medic would be at his desk when he'd hear a tentative knock at the door and call out "Ja!", and then Engineer would shuffle in, hard-hat-in-hand, and apologize. And explain.

There was a lot of that, too. A lot of explaining.  
Explaining how it was dark, how he was tired, how he'd made a habit of staying up late during cease-fire and that he was trying to break that habit. Explaining how he wasn't one to make excuses, but that frequent run-ins with the RED spy had rewired his brain, and it was all instinct now and there really was no thinking, just acting.  
Then Medic would tell him not to worry about it, that it was accident, that he was only doing his job, that he didn't know and that it could've been worse.  
They got to the operating room in time, didn't they? Medic was fine, wasn't he?  
Eventually Engineer would be convinced and consoled, and so he'd leave, though not without another apology.

It seemed to Medic this happened at least once a day.

The others found out, of course, and asked a hundred questions. And when they asked their hundred questions Medic told them the truth, that it was an accident, that he couldn't sleep and had taken a walk and was on his way back when it happened. And it _was_ the truth, wasn't it?  
Then he told them to calm down, that if the shot had been fatal then Respawn would've picked him up (they didn't need to know), and Scout, stop giving Herr Engineer such a hard time about it.

A week passed. A week of _mighty sorry_ and self-imposed exile.  
No one understood it, why he stayed shut up in his office when there were eight others to spend time with. Attempts were made to get him up and moving - even Sniper paid a visit – but none were successful. And would it have made much of a difference anyway? That week he was a world away with blood and birds in an operating room that was not his own.  
Was the RED medic recovering well? Had the RED heavy followed instructions for the IV? God knew those things could cause more trouble than they were worth if you gave them the chance.  
Medic took to sitting in the chair opposite the office door, half convinced it would open on him and the RED spy materialize.

But it never happened.

When the bloodshed between RED and BLU started up again and they crossed paths for the first time, there was something changed in his counterpart. Darker in the eyes, maybe, or at least around them.  
Medic was sprinting down a passageway en route to an injured Soldier when RED's Heavy/Medic duo rounded the corner. While it would've been an easy kill, the RED heavy did not open fire, instead barreling past and looking like several enraged BLUs were after him.

Only there were no BLUs, just the RED medic. And it was then that he gave BLU medic as close to thanks as he would get: one look.  
_Go hug a sticky bomb, _it said._  
_

No harm, it seemed, had come to the doctor's disposition. No harm done at all.

END


End file.
